


Ivy

by mamalorian



Series: Flora [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Shameless Smut, Smut, Touch-Starved, Unsafe Sex, Virgin!Mando;, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamalorian/pseuds/mamalorian
Summary: Sometimes all you need is hot console sex to remind you that you are still alive.Better known as, Mando loses his Virginity in the cockpit after a near death experience.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s), Dyn Jarren - Relationship, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Character, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Flora [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589827
Comments: 19
Kudos: 164





	1. Juniper

He knows the simple mechanics of it, and it doesn't take much more than pure instinct drive by lust fueled thoughts and a petite fiery partner. With great urgency, he shoves her back onto the blinking console, and works furiously to get his utility belt unsnapped. 

During his fumbling venture,  Syra raises up on shaking elbows and tries to help him, but Mando knocks her hands away and presses her back with a roughness he wasn't sure that he possessed. Perhaps it has been drawn about from their most recent encounter with Imps. Seeing her, surrounded and unarmed still makes his blood boil and his vision tilt. He nearly lost her, and is still trying to process how she was able to get away. How she was able to get back to him and the Child, sunlit rage darkening her gaze. 

Syra has her pants halfway down her thighs before his belt clatters to the floor, and he’s helping her yank them down over her boots when it hits him that she’s not wearing any underwear. He’s dizzy with lust and they both only seem to have the patience to get partially undressed. Her pants are hanging from one booted foot when she parts her thighs wide enough for him to step in between. 

Holding himself at the base and with her soft encouragement, Din presses into the slick place between her thighs. Instinct rockets him forward until he’s buried in her to the root and she howls when she clamps down on him. He drops a fist down next to her head, and grabs for her waist with the other. The feel of him pressing into her,  _ there  _ makes her go wild beneath him.

" Nghh ,  _ fuck _ ...s'tight.” He rumbles, and tries not to choke when he feels her hips roll against his own. 

“ Mando move for God’s -” He pulls partway out and thrusts back in, catching her off guard and she scrambles for his wrist to hold.The Mandalorian gives an experimental roll of his hips and she tightens around him, thighs shaking with effort. 

“I’m not  gonna last.  M’sorry Syra...”

“Why’re you still talking and not fucking me!”  Syra’s voice ends on a high note when he sets a sloppy, but brutal pace. She’s trying to guide him, but can’t seem to get a word out, mouth forming a perfect O. 

His boots are sliding all over the place and he struggles to gain purchase as he fucks her only the way an unpracticed lover can, with the most unbridled  enthusiasm and a strong grip. 

Now he’s got her by the waist with both hands, when he feels a sensation rocket down his spine. “Fuck!” He swears. “Fuck,  _ m _ _ esh’la _ .  S’good .”

Syra hurriedly kicks her bare leg up and over his hip and the new angle makes both of them see stars. His pace falters and he draws his gloved hand into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Pressing her knee into her chest, Mando turns her into a babbling mess. 

She’s telling him how good he feels in turn, how thick his cock is and her filthy mouth makes him moan and slow his strokes. He wants this to last, he wants it with a desperation that grabs his control and all but throws it out the window. 

Syra reaches down between them both and rolls her fingers across the opening to her slit and on the third round her back strings up tight, and she sobs his name.

_ DinDinbabypleaseshit _

He chases her orgasm with rough praises slipping between Basic and  Mando’a .

_ Come for me,  _ _ sarad _

_ Love how you feel on my cock _

_ Beautiful girl, so wet for me _

Syra twist hard under him, trying to match his thrust and prolong her orgasm, but her cunt fluttering around his cock sends him in a rapid spiral.

“ Gonna – can I – please,  _ Stars _ , girl – let me come inside you.” She’s frantically nodding, a round of  _ Pleasepleaseplease _ falling from those perfect cherry lips. 

Din tucks his helm against her collarbone and lets the impending climax over take him. His knees knock against the panel of the console as he pumps lazily and fills her up. He breathes her name and sags against her.

All goes white. 

Later, when he comes to, he realizes that he’s practically smashing her into the controls and she hums under her breath when he goes to raise up. They stare at each other for a few moments, her soft smile telling him everything that she cannot put into words. 

Din pulls from her with a hiss and winces when he tucks himself back into his pants. They spend a minute cleaning each other up and dancing around one another awkwardly. 

“Did you – how did  you.. ”  Syra has tucked herself into the pilots chair, braiding the short strands of her red hair back, forever watching him with those alien eyes. 

“Say it, Din. What am I?”

He squats down so that they are eye level, and cups the back of her neck. The sharp kiss of his helm pressing into her forehead makes  Syra tremble. He wants nothing more than to revel in what they have done. He doesn’t want to be a witness to the sorcery before him, and he wants to play ignorant so that this dynamic doesn’t change. 

“You’re our family,  _ sarad _ .”


	2. Tulip

The thing about space, is not only the vast region, but the emptiness you feel while traveling through. With the quiet hum of the ship in the back ground, Din contemplates his most recent discovery. 

Syra has the same abilities as The Child.

While her display was more substantial than anything he exhibited, he doesn't want to compare the two. There's the obvious difference between age, size and species. He would give his Amban rifle for a chance to discuss more with the Armorer, but that time has passed now. 

A sudden cry from the boy brings pause to his speculations and he moves from the cockpit back into the dark recesses of the ship. He can hear Syra, humming softly and then the Child's cries subside. 

He ducks his head past the curtain and into his small bunk room, and his heart stalls a beat or two at the sight before him. Syra is curled around the boy, faintly singing a tune that his audio modulator doesn't pick up. The atmosphere in the room feels tranquil and while he doesn't want to disturb, he can't find it in himself to leave them be. 

Syra looks up at him, with a gentle smile and sleepy sounding, "Hi." It makes his heart jerk back into rhythm, seeing her laying there amongst his things. She's changed into one of his undershirts and it dips across one of her shoulders and give him a tantalizing glimpse of her small cleavage. He swallows thickly, dips his head towards the Child. "He asleep?"

"Yes, just a nightmare. I'll take him back to his crib. I'm sure that you want to lay down and rest." She replies softly and gently rises from the bed. Mando stops her with his hand and reaches for the boy. "Don't move, I'll take him." The Child curls up against the crook of his arm when he picks him up and swiftly moves to deposit him into his own domain, amongst a pile of blankets that Syra bought for him on some back water planet. 

When he returns, she's seated on the very edge of the cot, eyeing him curiously. "You should really rest, Din." He will never get used to the sound of his name leaving her lips. He's already warned her not to toss it around when they are on world somewhere. She agrees to that bit of privacy. 

She tugs on his hand gently and brings him down near her, pushing him into a partially reclined position and rises up to her knees. "I can man the ship while you sleep." 

He doesn't want her to go, not yet. Not after what they have shared today. So he grips her wrist and tells her in a firm tone, "Stay."

No hesitation and she  smiles openly at him, flashing that charming little gap between her teeth. 

“How can I stay, and you rest? I’m sure that you want to come out of that armor and helmet, and I won’t push you on either of  those. Not even after...well earlier.” She sounds sheepish and it’s so endearing. 

Din lies flat and brings her on top of him, helping her to straddle his thighs.  Syra sighs softly and undulates her ass across his lap. Mando catches her by the waist, and whispers “That’s not what I was-”

She quiets him and rolls her hips again, “No, but I want to.”

Still rocking her hips, Syra spreads her legs a bit wider and settles herself over the ridge of his half hard cock. He groans below her and she pants quiet instructions to him. He begins to pull her forward by her waist and grind his hips, up up up – and when her breath catches it’s the sweetest sound he’s heard. 

One of his hands begin to roam, slipping upwards between her small breasts and coming to rest at the column of her pale throat. She’s rocking harder now, in tune with the coil of his hips and that’s when her mouth starts going.  The sounds that she makes draws the primal part of him to the surface. 

He slips his hand behind the nape of her neck and draws her downwards, pressing her face into his helmet. Bending his knees, pushing his boots flat against the cot, he grinds up against her, and groans at the pretty noises that leave her lips. "God's Din, yes! Like that.” She curls against him as his hips start a relentless pump against her damp center. She's soaked through her pants and he just _wants._

“I want you just like this...” She gives him a quiet _mhmm_ and her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Want my cock in you.  Again and again.  Wanna feel you around me, wet n’ tight girl.” He gives an involuntary thrust against her when she shrieks his name. 

“ Lookit you,  wearin my clothes. Tending to the boy. Make me want things I can’t have.” She shakes her head, bumping her chin against the edge of his helmet. “I’m not – that's not what I’m trying to do!”

He shushes her and slips a hand around to clasp onto her rear, urging her to rock against him faster. It’s borderline painful, all of her weight moving over the hardness of his cock but it spurs him on. 

“ Wanna make you come again, sarad. Yeah, you want it?”

She sobs a clipped, “Maker! Din, your mouth.”

“One day, I’ll give you my mouth girl. Give me your eyes.” She snaps them open and he pushes her upper body back, and he’s lost in her gaze. The  myriad of blues and greens, the streak of honey colored amber slicing through the middle of the right pupil. He’s lost and then found again, in the breathy tempo of her cries when they reach a fever pitch. He cups her jaw with one hand, thumb pressing into her trembling chin. He’s on the edge,  tiptoeing around his own impending climax but he needs her to finish first.

“ Syra ..” He says, voice low and strained. “ _ Cyar’ika _ . Come for me now.” 

The cry that builds in her throat and rises from her is no less than a  battle cry , and for one second he is worried about the Child....then his own orgasm sneaks up on him like a  sucker punch and knocks the breath from his lungs. He can hear  Syra panting to him softly, her fingers tangled in his cape and he clenches his teeth, locking the forbidden words up tight so that they don’t break forth. He's come apart in his pants like some sort of youngling..

They’re clutching one another, coming down from the high when  Syra begins to giggle. He rolls his helmet against her temple, wishing he was bare faced ....wishing he could nuzzle her hair line and breathe her in. 

“What is it,  _ ka’rta _ ?” He asks, basking in the glow of her  unique beauty. He never wants to leave this place, wants to remain in the  circle of her arms like The Child. Have her sing him to sleep and bring him back awake with her luminous smile and brilliant eyes. 

“Wonder how much cred I could get with Cara if she knew that I took your virtue? She-” 

Din rolls her over, despite her squeal of protest and slips his fingers into the waist band of her pants. 

“Less talking, I think I want to hear you beg.” He rumbles next to her ear, and rolls his middle finger over her clit, taking pleasure in the way that she parts her thighs with a quiet sigh. Such a repsonsive little thing..

Syra cants her hips upwards and tries to rush his clever fingers, and the Mandalorian slows almost to a full stop. She whines something he can't hear, looping an arm around his shoulders. 

The way she is looking up at him, _Stars_ , he would bring this galaxy to its knees for her if she asked.  "Slow down, Syra. We've got plenty of time for this."

“Practice makes perfect, Mando.  So show me.”

He does.


	3. Petunia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mando going to learn the hard way how to deal with mood swings (just a Drabble with a dash of background story)

They’re enjoying each other’s company, and she’s been poking him for quite some time to learn Mando’a. He’s teaching her easy words and visibly wincing when she parrots them back. 

Hi -  _Su’cuy_

Goodbye -  _Ret’urcye Mhi_

Fuck -  _Krif_ (Oh how her eyes shine with that one.)

“Your accent needs a little work.” He tells her with a chuckle. She’s looking on incredulously. 

“Are you kidding me? Get me some Beskar and no one will be the wiser.”

His shoulders tighten with the need to hold back his laughter. “Other than the fact that you’re a lousy shot?”

“Hey!” Now she’s laughing. “Least I’m handy with a blade or two!”

Din rubs at a scar across his arm, fingers rolling over his armor. “That, I’m aware of.” 

She winces at his tone and shrugs. “I did apologize.”

“After you robbed me of course.”

“Hey! I apologized for that too.”

“I’m beginning to think you were raised by Stormtroopers.”

He watches her head tilt back with a barking laugh. “You’re a regular comedian tonight, Mando.”

Silence over takes them, but it’s a pleasant stretch. 

“ _Mesh’la_ ” she says in a broken accent. “That one?” 

“Beautiful” he says, no hesitation.

He takes pride in the way that her face flushed a muted pink color. “You are. Beautiful, I mean.” She breathes back, eyes sparkling in the dingy cockpit. When he doesn’t move, Syra continues on, leaning towards him and on the edge of her seat. She brushes her fingers across his knee. 

“You’re a good man, Din Djarin. I don’t have to see your face to think you’re beautiful.” 

He tilts his head down to stare at her, this non traditional beauty flashing her smile full of happiness and she beams brighter than any star he’s ever seen. She’s too bright for the likes of him, and he wants to tell her that but won’t kill her joy. Not now. Instead he shifts a hand out to grasp her own, rubbing his thumb across her delicate knuckles. They sit in companionable silence for a moment before Syra turns her hand up, and tangles their fingers together. 

“ _Ka’rta_ ?” She whispers, and Din can hear a million questions behind that one. 

He gives a small shake of his head. “No.” He says lowly, “That one is for me only.”

Her fingers tighten around his once before she lets go, sitting back up in her seat. “That’s alright, Mando. I can respect that.”

It’s quiet again, but this time the silence stretches infinitely. She calls his name in the tone of another question, and then barrels forward without further preamble. 

“Back there, on Navarro. I... I almost -  **WE** almost lost you. Maybe I’m still trying to process it, I don’t know. All I do know is...”

She takes a deep breath and turns to look out the front glass, the console lighting up the strange hues of her eyes. “I don’t ever want to feel that way again. Helpless. Useless.”

She turns back to him, this time with a raised voice and he sees that her eyes are wet, lashes spiky with moisture. “I wanted to stay with you. Protect you. Die next to you. Don’t you ever take those choices from me again, do you understand?” 

He supposed that this had been building and he waits patiently with baited breath to see if there’s more, bubbling along the surface. And there is. 

“You were being selfless, as always... thinking you were going to die there and save us in the process. Don’t you know that would have destroyed the Boy? Destroyed me? Do you think we can do this without you?”

She gives a watery laugh, tangling her fingers in her hair with a cry, then dropping her hands back into her lap. She looks defeated, and it stabs at a sensitive place between his ribs. 

“You we’re trying to be our savior again, Mando. Thinking that you were going to spare us the suffering. If you hadn’t showed up, down there in the sewers with IG, I would have never survived this without you. “

“You’re a strong girl, Syra. You’re young & brave..” He tells her in the most even tone he can, but he can’t pretend he’s not affected by the passion of her. “You would have made it, with the Boy.”

“What’s any good living with a broken heart, Mando?” She throws her hands up, voice breaking on a sob. “I’d been useless to the Child!”

It goes quiet again, and Din doesn’t know what to do with this revelation. His lack of interaction with this caliber of feeling with a women rears it’s ugly head. “Thinking that you need me to survive is only proof of weakness.” 

“How dare you... how dare you think so little of my feelings! I - I am not some  _fucking_ droid with a manual setting. You would have so little regard for the way I feel after everything we have been through?” Her voice rises, with her body and she is vibrating with unleashed rage. The Child is loudly crying back further in the ship and he watches her shoot a furtive glance in that direction.

She wipes her eyes with the back of a dirty hand, and something stirs in him. “Just because you don’t feel the same way as me or the boy, doesn’t mean you can dismiss our feelings or make decisions for us. A part of me almost died there, on Navarro. Maybe I need to come to terms with that alone.” Then she’s gone.

Minutes later he hears her singing to the Child, another lovely tune he doesn’t know. 

** Go on, go on **

** Go bravely on **

** Into the blackest night **

** Hold my breath **

** 'Til your return **

** My love will never die **


	4. Hyacinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **smooshes their faces together** AAAANNNDDD KISS!
> 
> There will be typos and grammatical errors below...I wrote this as quickly as I could on a mobile device! You've been warned!

There’s a strained sense of dissociation in the ship the following days. It doesn’t imply that there’s malice in the air, just an inherent sense of wrongness that wraps its tendrils around his chest and threatens to crush the  life from him. 

Syra doesn’t avoid him, per say, she still cooks for him and allows privacy that he needs. She doesn’t stop smiling at him either, when they brush by one another or even when he joins her and the Boy for their evening meals. It’s a bit of normalcy she’s requested for the Child, to give him a proper sense of family that she’s never had; even if Din never partakes and leaves as soon as she cleans the child up. 

Her eyes are still startling in their intensity, but there’s no playfulness to be found. Her smile stretches across her face with ease, and while he can tell they aren’t forced; but he’s so tuned to her after all this time that he can tell she’s just not  _ happy _ . 

She’s wilting, because of him.

His lack of experience with women leaves an open cavern of excuses he could use; but they’ve been together long enough that he knows her like he knows the take down on his Amban rifle. They’ve never had a wall between them, rather Syra has always been transparent with him when it comes to her needs. It’s one of the things he likes the most about her, her upfront and unwavering honesty. 

Din knows that the Child can sense the discontent, because he seems to be all over the place; one moment he’s perfectly fine playing with the shifter ball from the throttle, and the next he’s inconsolable to the point that both of them have to tend him until his cries die out. 

They land on an outer rim planet, one teeming with greenery and Din doesn’t want to admit that he chose this one because  Syra thrives in this type of environment; but he loves how she lights up when they mosey down the ramp. 

The ship has become suffocating at this point, Din choking on all the things he doesn’t know how to say. 

The apology is on the tip of his tongue when she brushes by, blaster in hand. There’s a couple of overturned crates about 1000 yards from the ship, old  Bantha milk bottles scattered across the top of them. He’s stuck in limbo – he doesn’t know if he should assist her, or if she needs an audience at all. 

He decides to pass the time, flitting through the Nav system and placing pins on the more remote planets, easier hiding places but ones that still hold the promise of work, albeit small.

He picks up on the sounds of the Child trying to climb up the ladder and intercepts him, tucking the Boy close to his chest and descending down to the small locked cubby he’s arranged for him. Once the child is safe amongst his nest of blankets, Din stays until his breathing evens out and he’s passed out, snoring softly. 

When he leaves the ship, he sees  Syra drinking from a bladder of water, moisture dripping down her chin. With all the local foliage, the planet is sweltering from the humidity. Din’s helm has a temperature regulator, so he’s not suffering like  Syra but his under shirt is sticking to his chest like a second skin under the  Beskar . 

At first, he doesn’t know what to say. Even when he first brought her on, he could drum up the simplest of conversations. There’s something about the petite girl, with her open and honest face that makes people talk and t's been fruitful for him in the past, using her to get bounties in without the threat of violence. Syra seems to feel his awkwardness and takes mercy on him, breaking the silence with a soft, “I think that our little one might be a better shot than I am.”

There’s a brief pause where Din’s cataloging the way she says ‘our’ before he points towards the bottles. “Show me.”

Her stance is a major problem, especially since she’s a novice with blasters. The first shot goes wide, the second clips the limb of a fallen tree and the third hits the edge of a crate and shatters the plastic into pieces.

He hates the awful sight of her slumped shoulders, sagging in defeat. He cautiously steps forward, hovering at the edge of her back.

“ Gotta fix your stance, first off.” He gently toes her ankle until she brings her legs a little closer together. “Bend your knees just a bit, that’s it, perfect.” Din cups one of her elbows, drawing her arm up. “Stop bending your elbows. Extend your arms all the way forward, lock them tight.” He presses a palm on her back, tenderly, and coax’s her to tilt forward a hairsbreadth. “Deep breath.” 

Syra pops off at a shot, clipping a bottle on its side and it shatters on impact. “Another.” Din commands. 

“Stop staring directly at the target, look down your line of sight.” She’s an excellent student, taking his arduous directive better than anyone he’s ever encountered. She’s still missing the bottles every now and then but she’s not a threat to the surrounding wildlife at this point. Well, not  _ too  _ much of a threat.

They stay out in the warm sun, shooting bottles, targets and rocks until  Syra’s cheeks are pink from the exposure and Din draws her back closer to the shade provided by the ship. He passes her more water and urges her to take a drink, searching the ship for solar cream; stepping closer he’s inspecting the burn across her nose and she’s watching him from under spiky lashes. 

He crowds her, gentle so that he doesn’t spook her and she whispers his name so timidly that he swallows down his response until it settles in his gut with no chance of escape. He applies some of the cream to her face, with a feather light touch and watches her lashes kiss her cheeks and he feels like he can breathe better without her eyes staring through him. 

She smiles gradually, enjoying his ministrations and quiet touch, humming under her breath. Din cups her face when he’s done, tender as he can with the rough leather gloves and she pins him with her gaze, her fingers wrapping around his wrist; she leans into the touch and says in that all-knowing way, “I’m sorry Din. I shouldn’t have--”

“No, there’s no need. I was trying to protect you both,  _ sarad _ . I can respect your wishes, but promise me that you will remain safe. You have the Boy to think of now, too.”

She nods, pulling his hand around the back of her shoulder, and embraces him. It’s uncoordinated at first, and she has to rise up on her tiptoes but it works for him. He can’t remember the last time he actually hugged someone like this, probably not since before he was a foundling. Her cheek is smashed against the side of his helm, and he tucks his forehead down into her shoulder. 

Syra doesn’t know how long they stand together, pressed together from boots to head, but she feels the first curl of desire when Din’s glove rasps across her lower back and tangles in the fabric of her gauzy skirt. Its followed quickly by a sharp notion of shame, Din probably doesn’t mean it to be a come on, but she hasn’t known a tender touch since she was a child. Being a slave doesn’t bring loving hands in all instances. 

The carnal awareness that  Syra feels for this man threatens to burn her from the inside out. She’s been with plenty others, in many ways but none of them will measure up to Din. There’s an emotional fulfillment that she’d not experienced as a slave on Tapin, not that she held any love in her heart for those types of men. 

Syra loves Din with a piece of her she thought had died long ago. 

She’s boxed her love up, and pressed it away like flowers between the pages of a book, to preserve it until her lungs give out. She sees the beauty in everything he does – caring for the Child, his loyalty to Cara and herself, the moral compass that he doesn’t realizes he wears outside of his armor. 

Syra’s not known many good men, if any at all, but she knows Din – she knows his heart like her own and it should frighten her how much she would be willing to give, her life and all, to keep him safe from harm. She knows that these men will never falter, no matter how many times they may fail, and that one day she will have to take her last breath so that he can continue taking his. Sacrifice is not a foreign subject to her anymore, but the thought of losing something she loves to the very edge of the universe makes pain bloom across her chest. 

Syra wants to tell him how she feels, she wants to let the shout build in her throat so that her word of truth will carry across time and space, but for those with evil in their hearts to know how precious this man is to her, then that will put him directly in the path of the very dangers she’s trying to shield him from.

She doesn’t even hesitate before she pulls one of her arms down and in between them, fingers skirting across  Beskar and bumping into Din’s belt, his name falls from her tongue in a suggestive tone. He stiffens and then he crushes her tighter against him, grinding himself against her thigh. It’s all the encouragement she needs, fingers working at his belt slowly. She’s peering down between them when she’s able to get the belt undone, the buckle bouncing off his hip with a quiet jangle. 

She gets her fingers under his pants with an eagerness that’s a tad embarrassing, but Din doesn’t seem to care because he’s hissing between his teeth when she gets her fingers wrapped around him. She scrapes her nails down the hair surrounding him, running her thumb across his thickening length. He’s  velvet soft, and hot enough it feels like he could sear her palm. He still hasn’t let go of her, fingers tangling in her clothing when she pushes his pants down just a hair, freeing him from the confines. He groans in the back of his throat when she swipes her thumb over the head of him, precum dripping across her fingers. 

The first tug is quick and she relishes in the sound he makes, but she wants this to draw out for him so she does another couple of slow strokes, until he’s fully hard and is pointing nearly up to his belly. She holds his waist with her free hand and starts to jerk him off in earnest, and Din practically curls up around her, helmet pressing into her shoulder hard enough to hurt. 

“Is this okay?” She whispers, and Din’s hip jerk at the sound of her voice, pushing her off balance. 

“ _ Maker  _ \- anything you do would be o-okay.”

“Does it feel good?” She can’t stop now, feels like she’s on cloud 9 with the endorphins firing off in all directions. She didn’t know she could get this turned on from a handjob. 

“ S’the best. ” Din rasps quietly, reaching down to guide her hand into a familiar rhythm for himself. His breath falters when she gives him a little squeeze and they’re both panting now, jerking him off together, fingers tangled and covered and sticky.

“Has anyone ever done this for you?” 

“N-none pretty as you,  _ mesh’la _ .”

Syra’s desire becomes an ache, awful and biting behind her teeth and she drops to her knees before him, holding him at the base and the other hand sliding across her own waist. She leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock, her tongue out to catch the pearl of precum shining in the light. 

“ S’not what I – y-you-u don’t have.” She shuts him up effectively with a swift lick from root to tip. Din fists her hair, making a sound of misery, holding her still. His cock is pressed up against her lips, nose and cheek as she stares up at him, her eyes hooded.

“ _ Fuck _ .” He tightens his grip. “Just fucking look at you.” 

Syra’s lip curve into a smile, then she licks again to try and get him wet before she leans up to catch the head of his cock in her mouth. Din makes a wheezing sound when she opens her mouth wider, trying to take him all the way in. He bumps the back of her throat with a growl and holds her still until her throat flutters and she coughs, choking around him. Din immediately pulls her back with an apology spilling from the helmet, but  Syra soothes him with a smile, and starts tugging on him again building the friction.

“It’s ok,  _ mesh’la _ .”  Syra says on a harsh exhale. “I liked it.”

She leans forward again to swallow him down, working her throat open and trying to take her cues the sounds Din’s making. He starts to rock into her, its subtle but she encourages it with a vibrating moan around him. He’s blabbering all manners of things, most of it not in Basic, but she catches her name every so often. 

When she reaches up to cup him, she feels his sac draw up tight against him and Din moans loud enough that she feels the reverberation in her chest. She drags up the length of him, swirling him at the base and  let's go of him with an obscene wet sound.

“Come for me?” She asks sweetly, still jerking him in earnest. His cock is wet with a mixture of pre come and spit so it's messy. His thighs flex and she  know it won’t be too much longer. 

She tries to coax him gently before guiding his arm down, to take himself back in hand. “Come on, Din. Want to taste you.”

He swears  vehemntly , doubling over and using his opposite hand to work her mouth open, his thumb snatching at the corner of her lip to keep her still.  Syra lets him, opening wide and letting her tongue slip out. 

“ _ K-kar’ta _ ” Dins gasping, jerking himself so hard that the head of his cock prods her lips on each pass and then he makes a choked sound, something akin to her name and comes hard. He paints her lower lip and tongue with ropes of cum, reaching down to smear it along the skin of her neck at her tattoo. 

He murmurs her name like a prayer, drawing his fingers across her mouth and  Syra’s tongue darts forward to clean the cum from his hand, closing her lips around his thumb and sucking hard. The glove is salty with him, and tastes of leather and smoke.

Din watches her lick her lips, sliding those petite fingers across her chest and using her plump mouth to mop her fingers clean. She leans her face against his thigh looks up at him, chest heaving. With a gentle pull, he helps her stand and uses the back of his hand to draw down her face. The words are there before he can stop them. 

“ Wanna kiss you. So bad.”

She seems startled, blue eyes glancing off his helmet. “Are you sure? I- I can close my eyes? I won’t look, I swear!” 

Din hesitates, pointing a finger at her. “Don’t look.” She screws her eyes shut and puckers her mouth up immediately, its more cute than seductive but Din finds it charming. He has to give her something in return, but feels guilty because this is more for him. He’s never kissed another person, not even before he took the creed. 

Din removes his helmet, letting it dangle from his hand and reaches up to cover her eyes with his palm. She startles softly at his touch, but relaxes before leaning closer to him.

He takes a great swallow of air, the humid air clogging his lungs and sweat rolls down his temple. She’s standing there, mouth parted with his hand covering her eyes and Din doesn’t keep her waiting any longer. 

The first press of lips is gentle & chaste, and  Syra’s trembling trying so hard to hold still and let Din explore, but she wants to curl her hands around his shoulders and hang on.

He rubs his mouth against hers, and tentatively licks her bottom lip then catches it with his teeth and bites down.  Syra moans and her hand comes up to  tangle in his cape. Her heart is threatening to beat out of her chest; she’s envisioned this a million different ways and the reality is so much sweeter.

She opens her mouth under his, tongue sliding against his in a sensuous glide that makes his breath hitch. She’s trying to guide him, and he’s more grateful than embarrassed because he knows that he seems over eager, but she tastes better than he can imagine. There’s a lingering taste of salt on her tongue that he associates with himself and when he slants his mouth over hers at another angle, their teeth clash and he pulls her in close. He’s so wrapped up in the feel of her that he barely registers the far away sound of the Child crying. He pulls away reluctantly, dropping his head back down for a few pecks that make her giggle. 

“Keep your eyes closed,  _ sarad _ .” He removes his hand and slides the helmet back on, the  temperature regulator stealing away the feel of her lips with a blast of cold air.

His gentle touch on her shoulder gives her a cue and he  watches her blink up groggily at him, smiling shyly. “I better go check on him.” Neither of them moves for a few moments, transfixed by each other.  Syra breaks the silence first, again. “Din, I need to tell you that I -”

Another cry makes  Syra jump slightly, and she backs away slowly, seemingly embarrassed by something. “I- I’ll just go check on him now.” In her haste to get away, she nearly trips over her own feet and barely catches herself against the hull. 

Later, when he’s prepping the ship for takeoff, he’ll ask her what she was going to tell him, his  curiosity eating him alive.

She flushes furiously, turning away to stare out the glass and into the sky above as the ship begins to hover higher and higher. “It was nothing really. Just glad that we are ok, now.”

Din watches her for a moment. “You can tell me anything. You know that.” He reaches over to tangle their fingers together, and his heart jumps when she gives his hand a squeeze. 

“I know.” She says, turning to smile at him sweetly. “Some things are just better left unsaid, Chrome Dome.”

He lets the quip slide, this time at least.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one long non edited post written in less than an hour. (If you can't tell lol!) Thinking about making this into a series. Leave me some feedback on that!


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